


Five Ways to Say "I Love You", without sayings the words

by FandomJumper (littlelostcat)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, SGA Secret Santa Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 20:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17029179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelostcat/pseuds/FandomJumper
Summary: Five snippets of ways McShep say I Love you, without saying it.  :)





	Five Ways to Say "I Love You", without sayings the words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CartWrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CartWrite/gifts).



> Written for the SGA Secret Santa for CartWrite. I hope you like it and hope it fulfills somewhat what you were looking for. :) 
> 
> Beta'd by JaneDoe, all mistakes are my own. Apparently I had a heavy italics hands in this fic -- I wanted to take some out but just couldn't.

**1.**  
Rodney didn’t know how long they’d been in the cave, huddled beside one another. The storm outside didn’t look like it was stopping; heavy snow and hard rain poured down in sheets and drifted inside. His fingers were losing feeling and he didn’t even want to think about his toes. He’d lost feeling in those before they’d made it into the cave. But all he could think about now, through the fog of Cold and Dark, was that this was supposed to be the planet of a thousand days of summer.  


“Looks, looks like we came du-during the three days of winter,” Sheppard whispered from beside him, and he realized he’d spoken aloud.  
Rodney nodded and looked over, Sheppard’s skin was pale and his lips nearly white. He closed his eyes and tried to move, pulling John closer. For once he was grateful for Carson’s endless lectures on What-To-Do-If-Ya’rre-Stranded.  


“John, we need to move,” he sucked in a breath and moved his hands from under his arms to grab at Sheppard’s, “We need to move further from the entrance. Body heat.”  


John nodded but didn’t move and he wondered if John had heard him. A moment passed then John pushed himself up and pulled Rodney up with him, together they walked towards the back of the cave leaning heavily on one another and the walls. It was dark and the walls scraped his fingers as they moved.  


Together they reached the back of the cave and the air felt less moist, he could see his breath and couldn’t stop shaking but the wind couldn’t reach them back here and the rain and snow couldn’t sweep in. John shoved him further towards the back and Rodney blindly gripped the back wall of the cave.  


“Body heat,” Sheppard repeated, his teeth chattering. Rodney nodded. He pulled at John’s vest, his fingers numb and clumsy. He tried to focus on the zipper and snaps then jumped when John nudged his hands away and finished opening the vest. He then began pulling at Rodney’s with a preciseness Rodney had only seen a handful of times. Military. Exact. Survivor. But still it took too long, too long for two grown men to pull off clothes. Rodney couldn’t help but wonder if this was how they died. Not at the hands of the Wraith, not in some ridiculous gun-slinging battle, but in a cold, damp cave on a miserable planet that was supposed to be experiencing 300 more days of blistering sunshine.  


They piled the blanket from his pack on top of themselves and their clothes on top of the blanket. He wanted weight and dryness over them. He wanted body heat and movement between them. He pulled John against him so John’s back was flush against Rodney’s chest then ran his hands over John’s icy stomach and chest, willing his body to warm John's.  


“Next time,” Rodney whispered, too cold to be angry, “Don’t jump in the river because you think he hear someone.” He gulped a breath, buried his nose against the slightly-less-cold of John’s neck and sighed. “It’s an abandoned planet, _Colonel_.”  


He felt John nod and thought he heard, “Stupid mistake.”  


He almost ignored it. Almost. “No, the stupid mistake was letting Woolsey choose the planet.”  


John huffed a laugh and nodded, his wet hair tickling Rodney’s nose. He linked his fingers around Rodney’s and squeezed. Rodney moved his body against John’s, wrapped his legs around John’s, his arms around John’s, their linked fingers moving over John’s chest. _Movement_ , Carson’s voice repeated in the back of his mind, _you need to move and stay warm. And, yes, gentlemen, sometimes we need to get naked to get that warmth. The human body is incredible at staying alive, but cold and wet clothing make bodies colder and makes the body work harder_. Rodney felt exhaustion creeping in, the cold becoming a dull nothingness that he knew he needed to fight against. Then he closed his eyes.

The cavalry came the next day, their muffled voices calling for Sheppard and McKay. He tapped his earpiece and gave a mumbled affirmative, his voice cracking from cold and exhaustion and dehydration. Rodney looked down to where John’s head was resting on his chest and sighed, then he started moving. They slowly, achingly, pulled their clothes on. When Rodney looked outside it was to sunshine, heat creeping into the cave. He pulled John with him and let John’s weight fall on him. Outside Ronon and Lorne were coming over the hill and Rodney nearly called out, instead he felt John wave a hand and tighten his grip on Rodney’s shoulder. 

**2.**  
Rodney loved villagers. He loved huts with thatched roofs. He loved town wells that sat as the town square. He loved pubs that acted as the local watering hole and town celebration spot. He _really_ loved the celebrations on PX8-293 and their berry wine that made his tongue tingle and made everything feel like velvet. He rolled his head to the side and watched Teyla and Ronon dance, how could one galaxy have two people that beautiful?  


“I don’t know, buddy,” Sheppard said from beside him. Rodney grinned and watched two Sheppards meld into one, then two, then one.  


“I think I’m drunk, Colonel,” Rodney mumbled, then giggled as he followed the one-then-two-then-one-then-two Sheppards and their nodding heads, and then he began falling toward them. He stopped, one hand tightly grabbing the cup and the other raised high. He frowned at the floor. He should be falling, he thought, then looked up and saw what was stopping him from said fall.  


“You are,” John confirmed with a smirk and pulled him back. “Enjoy it, because you are going to hate walking back to the Gate tomorrow. And so are they,” he said nodding to where Ronon was now spinning in circles around Teyla.  


Rodney nodded because that, he thought, didn’t look sober.  


“It isn’t,” John agreed.  


“Can you read my mind?” Rodney asked, slowly and deliberately poking a finger against John’s forehead.  


“No,” John replied, “You keep talking. Pretty sure you lost your internal filter after the third drink. Alright, let’s let Fred and Ginger keep going while I get you to bed.”  


Rodney nodded, downed the last of his wine when John tried to pull it away. “No. Earned it.”

They walked, or stumbled and leaned heavily in Rodney’s case, towards the hut. And Rodney was proud of the fact that he only stopped once to not throw up. He took a deep breath, the air cleaner than back on Atlantis, and looked up toward the sky,  
“When I was a kid I’d climb into my sister’s tree house to learn the stars.” He hiccuped and leaned heavily on John’s shoulder, then pointed to the bright stars. “I could name all the constellations by high school.”  


“Bet the girls loved it,” John huffed.  


Rodney nodded then swung his head toward Sheppard and smiled, “Not so much.”  


Their room was small, taken up mostly by a single bed that Rodney had declared dibs on the minute they had walked in hours before. His bag and laptop sat in the center of the bed as a marker. He felt John’s hands on him, twisting him and pushing him towards the bed. Objectively he knew John had two hands, but man, he felt John _everywhere_.  


“Just here, McKay,” John laughed from … somewhere and felt a warm hand on his chest.  


“You’re always here,” Rodney mumbled and dropped his head down, somehow his nose bumped against Sheppard’s neck and he nuzzled closer while John got the rest of his gear off.  


“That’s right,” John whispered and Rodney really wished his eyes would open; when they did he was looking into John’s eyes and the room behind him was spinning. He immediately leaned back and threw an arm over his face. Blessed darkness.  


“I wouldn’t do this without you,” Rodney whispered, and knew if he said it louder John would hear. John squeezed his thigh and Rodney tried to pull him closer, nuzzling and chastely kissing his way along Sheppard’s throat. “Wouldn’t want to.”  


He thought he felt the heaviness and warmth of John’s hand on the back of his neck, but then everything was black and warm and dark.

The hangover came the next morning, like a drummer pounding out the tune to Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. John was beside him, eyes closed and chest rising in a steady rhythm. Rodney sighed and really hated PX8-whatever. 

**3.**  
Rodney isn’t sure whose fault it was, although he’d put money on Mr. I-Love-To-Touch-The-Things, but here they are trapped in Atlantis. Radek promised them an hour ago that it wouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.  


“Radek!” he yelled into the tiny radio. “What the hell is taking so long?”  


“There seems to be a lock,” Radek mumbled and Rodney could hear the pen or tool in Radek’s mouth. “Seems Atlantis is not perfect construction and keeps,” Radek cursed and then seemed to talk around his finger, “shocking us.”  


Rodney sighed and shook his head at Sheppard. “Keep me in the loop.”  


“On a scale of 0 to I Have Two Doctorates And Trapped In A Windowless Room Without A Computer, how mad are you?” Sheppard grinned and leaned his head back against the wall. Rodney took a second to take in the image of a loose and relaxed John before answering.  


“I’d say I Hate Flyboys With Natural ATA Genes.”  


John rolled his head down with a wink, “We both know that isn’t true. You brought me coffee this morning.”  


Rodney looked at the empty cup, the cup that had started this whole exploration of the north wing, with a huff. “I bring you coffee all the time.”  


John shook his head and settled himself against the wall, moved so that his one of his legs was pressed against Rodney’s. “I bring _you_ coffee all the time. You bring me toys.”  


Rodney chuckled and rolled his eyes. “You didn’t bring any toys with you, by chance? Like a bar shaped one?”  


He gasped when John threw a blueberry power bar at his chest. “Never leave home without it,” John smirked, “Never know why my scientist is going to have a meltdown.”  


“I don’t meltdown,” Rodney moaned around the taste of blueberry and offered half to John who shook his head. He finished the bar in silence, each second moving slower and slower. Rodney hated absolute silence.  


“So,” John said knocking his feet against Rodney’s thigh and smirking, “Since we have the time, wanna talk about PX8?”  


“No,” Rodney snapped, “Do you want to talk about the stupidity of jumping into icy lakes and what happens after?”  


John shook his head and let it fall back against the wall again. Rodney hated the heavy quiet that settled between them, because now it was impossibly loud and getting harder to ignore.

The rescue came twenty minutes later. Radek and Lorne each with scorch marks on their fingers and, for some reason, on Lorne’s nose. 

**4.**  
Rodney hates many things in life: lemons, Tuesday staff meetings, villagers who don’t understand that technology is a good thing, that squirrely botanist. Many, many things.  


Right now his hatred is centered on the Albatishians, with a minor side dislike for Major Lorne and his team of idiotic marines who are remarkably good at escaping enemy fire whilst leaving significantly more important expedition members in the field. Rodney tried moving his foot then bit his lip as pain shot up his leg. Nope, he thought with a groan, not trying that again. He propped himself against the corner of his cell and closed his eyes, replaying the morning and reevaluating his dislike for Major Lorne. The problem was he could hear Sheppard’s voice in his mind calmly (too calmly for McKay’s mood) rationalizing it. _All things considered, McKay, one hostage is better than an entire team_. And with Lorne and his team making it to the gate, _his_ team could come and get him.  


He made a mental note to never work with another team, no matter how enticing the technology was.  


He heard the guards coming down the hallway, their heels clicking in steady rhythm, and he hated the way his body began to respond. Ronon would be standing and ready to fight, Teyla would be prepared to negotiate or fight her way out, Sheppard would think of some ridiculous plan that wouldn’t work on paper but would work in Sheppardland.  


Rodney?  


His heart sped up until it was painful and his hands began to shake, the pain in his ankle began to throb harder and his neck was sweating. A hundred scenarios whipped through his brain and none of them ended with him walking out the door of his own volition.  


When the door opened the man who stood looking in reminded him of an older, more war-worn version of Kolya and he shuddered as the ghost of Kolya’s knife slid across his arm. The man crossed his arms and smiled, “You are one of the Atlantis men.”  


It wasn’t a question and Rodney physically bit his tongue to stop the retort he wanted to say.  


“I have heard your army is strong, but you?” the man laughed “Do not appear to have strength.”  


“My name is Dr. Rodney McKay, a scientist from Atlantis.” He stopped at ten words and closed his eyes. _Tell them your name, your rank, and that’s it, McKay_ , John’s voice ordered from somewhere in his memory. _Do not let them know anything about your mission, your team. We don’t leave men behind_.  


Rodney knew this man and his people wouldn’t kill him but the pain in his foot throbbed when the man laughed, “A scientist? Useless. I might as well throw you into the Pit of Khazliq.”  


He didn’t reply and felt a vague sense of triumph when the man stopped laughing and slammed the door, then flinched when he heard the man ordered the guards to deal with him if he made any noise. Rodney closed his eyes and tried to think out his options, then almost immediately realized that there weren’t any.  


He watched the sun set and the light scale down the wall. He didn’t sleep. He tried standing and hobbled awkwardly to the window; he ignored the pain in his leg as he peered outside. The village looked like any other sea town, a small port with ships lining the dock.  


The man in the military uniform came back the next day, stood in the doorway and raked his eyes over Rodney. He took a step in and Rodney hated how he tried to move away. The man laughed and stopped just inside the door.  


“You die tomorrow, Dr. McKay, _scientist_ from Atlantis,” he said with a sneer, “Your body will be more use as a message than keeping you alive.”

John came that night, leading the rescue team that consisted of Ronon, Teyla, Lorne, and three marines. He didn’t know what woke him up, but he blinked into the darkness and heard the unmistakable sound of a man dying outside of his cell. Then the door burst open, smoke bringing tears to his eyes and burning his throat. He tried to stand but was hauled up by John, felt John’s hands pressing him looking for injuries. He coughed, bracing himself on Sheppard and the wall, then shook his head.  


“Twisted ankle,” he groaned.  


“We’re getting you home, buddy,” John whispered against his ear and for a second Rodney thought he felt John’s mouth against his temple. “Stay with me.”  


“Not going anywhere,” Rodney mumbled against John’s neck.

 

 **5.**  
John stared. He didn’t know what to look at first: the bright green and blue Christmas tree made out of liquids and test tubes in the corner? The reindeer made out of God knows what? Or the Santa hat (complete with bells) that sat on Rodney’s head? He settled on McKay who was standing behind his desk turning slowly around as if cataloguing each piece of Christmas cheer.  


“Don’t,” McKay ordered without stopping. The door behind John closed, and Rodney cursed then bent over his computer and began typing.  


“Who would—”  


“A soon-to-be fired Czech,” Rodney answered before he could finish. “A soon-to-be-fired Czech with too much time on his hands.”  


John grinned and glanced back to the closed door, then up at the mistletoe above Rodney’s head. He didn’t know how Zelenka had gotten into Rodney’s office or where he got the crap to decorate, he also had a suspicion that Rodney didn’t know about the mistletoe. He leaned on McKay’s desk and picked up one of the glass balls transformed into a Christmas ornament, nudging Rodney’s shoulder with it. “Thought you liked Christmas.”  


“I do. It’s Isaac Newton’s birthday,” Rodney snapped, taking the ball. The hat jingled slightly as he turned.  


“The door locked?” John asked nodding his head towards the closed door.  


“I had it programed to shut and lock whenever someone came in —“  


“Pretty sure Radek isn’t stupid enough to come back in here with Grinch McKay on guard. Besides, how do you know it’s him?”  


Rodney tightened his lips and spread his arms wide, he kicked his chair to the side, “Who else? Who else would come into my classified office to decorate with tinsel? Unless, you’re admitting it, Colonel, hmm?”  


“Nope. Just a friendly bystander.” John smirked then purposely looked up again, making sure to catch Rodney’s eye, “So, anyone taken you up on that yet?”  


“On what?”  


John pointed and watched confusion, recognition, then annoyance flicker across Rodney’s face. “Um … no,” he stuttered, “Somehow I missed that and now it is a very soon to be fired Czech.”  


John nodded and picked up the ball again. He rolled the glass in his hand and chuckled as the liquid turned from green to red. Rodney flicked a glance over, then eyed the sprig of mistletoe. “Heat sensitive. I don’t know how he got it to turn colors, since that _isn’t we study in this department_.”  


John nodded and focused on the color change. He felt the change happening; in the glass and room. This was the point where he could make another joke and leave or not. He could do something that had been brewing in the background of this relationship since the personal shield, since Kolya, since the damned summer planet and its three days of winter, since Rodney’s hot-breathed alcohol-induced murmurs in John’s ear, since they were locked in a room, since …  


“Think anyone will?” he asked.  


“Will what?” Rodney asked, turning to face him. “Will anyone come in here, see a small leaf of mistletoe _that doesn’t even grow in this galaxy_ and kiss me? No, Colonel, I don’t think so.”  


“Would you want them to?” John asked, nudging Rodney back until he was sitting on the desk. Rodney opened his mouth, eyes on John’s, then closed it.  


“I don’t know.”  


John grinned, he looked up and put his hands on the desk on either side of Rodney, “I would.”  


“You’d want them to?” Rodney asked quietly. He didn’t move to get out of John’s embrace, just sat on the edge of the desk and looked up at John and the mistletoe, and John considered that the deciding factor.  


“Merry Christmas, McKay,” he whispered, then brushed his lips across Rodney’s. He rested his hand onRodney’s hip, moved so he was between Rodney’s spread legs, and smiled when Rodney deepened the kiss.


End file.
